What he could want with her she could not tell, and she had not paused to inquire. That he meant her no good she knew, but it was useless to anticipate the evil, till she knew its nature. She went upstairs with a heavy heart, and returned, greatly to Miss Forster’s surprise, in walking costume. The little boy, confident of his reception, came bounding in and clung affectionately to her skirts. She kissed him fondly, but told him he could not go with her that morning. ‘Not at all? May I not go a little way, mamma?’ ‘Not even a little way, darling; I must go alone to-day.’ There was such a strange ring in her voice that Miss Forster looked up in some amazement, while the child clung closer to Madeline, and ardently kissed the cold, pale cheek. ‘Mamma is going to see a doctor,’ he said; ‘is it not so, mamma?’ “No, dear.’ ‘Then where are you going alone, on such a cold wet day?’ Madeline flushed uneasily, and impatiently put the child from her. ‘You should not ask so many questions,’ she said; ‘it is rude!’ Then, noting the little crestfallen face, she hurriedly caught him up again and kissed him, while her own eyes filled with tears. ‘Hush, do not mind, I was wrong; but I did not mean to pain you, darling--no, no--not _you!_’ During the enacting of this scene Miss Forster had still remained in the room. Up to this moment she had said nothing; but her eyes had followed all her sister-in-law’s movements, and watched her face with peculiar interest. When Madeline had put down the boy, and was about to leave the room, she spoke. ‘The carriage has not come round,’ she said. Madeline started, and turned. She had ignored the presence of her sister-in-law; and that lady noticed that the sudden recollection of it brought another uncomfortable flush to the pale cheek, and caused another anxious look about the room. ‘I--I have not ordered the carriage,’ she said. ‘Indeed?’ No question had been asked, therefore Madeline was not bound to reply; but feeling that she must say something, she stammered rather awkwardly-- ‘I am going to walk. I prefer it to-day, as my head is bad, but I shall not be long away.’ Then, as if in dread of further questioning, she hurried from the room. It was certainly a most inclement morning, but Madeline, being suitably clad, did not heed the weather. After walking a short distance, she hailed a passing hansom and drove to the park gate, close to the Albert Memorial; here she alighted, and crossing to the footpath sank wearily upon one of the seats to watch for the Frenchman’s arrival. She had not sat long when she saw him. Previous to her coming, Gavrolles, as we must continue to call him, had been parading theatrically round the memorial for a quarter of an hour, to the great admiration of several idle nursemaids. He did not at first see Madeline. He was smoking a cigar, glancing with careless interest at the somewhat tawdry designs, and keeping a cat-like eye on the figures which were moving about the park.